Lucid: A Belated Rebuttal
by Sage Pagan
Summary: More ramble than prose. I should have posted this long ago, but it's my reaction to one of the former fics on the site. It tells the truth.


**Author's Note**: I've been meaning to post this up for almost a year now. It's a reaction to one of the former fics on this site (ahem, _Blur_**cough**_ry_**cough**_Ey_**cough**_es_). Unfortunately, the author has deleted it already, probably because she knows that she's a coward to put up such a piece of crap without being straightforward and honest about it. Well, here's my version of that story, the WHOLE version, that is. I don't mean to cause any unnecessary drama, but I couldn't let her get away with it--even if it is nearly a year later. This piece is actually very poorly written, more ramble than prose, but it tells the truth, and that's the whole point. Some of you will know what I'm talking about once you read this, some of you won't. I should have posted this long ago, but here it is now. --_**Sage Pagan**_

* * *

It's hard to find the balance when you are in  
love. You're lost in the middle 'cause you have to  
decide between mind & heart…

-- "Between mind & heart" by _Enigma_

**Part I - Love: The Catalyst **

Love is...

Pain. An illusion. Trivial. Weakness. Intoxicating. An enigma. Cruel. Sorrow. Everything I ever wanted. Whatever you want it to be. Indescribable. Beautiful. Life. All you really need.

Love is…

We are slaves to it. All it takes is one moment, and nothing matters anymore.

Whatever love was, I sure as hell didn't care. At least, I pretended I didn't.

One thing I did know: love was a dance. And I sucked at dancing.

There were many styles of love as there were styles of dances. It could be fast-paced, unpredictable, the eclectic, staccato bursts of energy in the lightning strike moves of a break dance. It could be feral, seductive, a languid, sultry salsa. It's a risk that we all take; a dance in the dark that created stumbling fools, bruised hearts, and sore feet.

No matter how much I tried to improve, I was still the worst dancer. I lacked the rhythm. I was too shy to ask anyone to the floor, and when I did try, I inevitably wound up making a complete idiot of myself, staggering and tripping over my heart and feet. And so for years I buried myself in denials, hid behind my school work and the smudges of pencil drawings in the corners of notebooks and used printer paper. I hid behind my feigned nonchalance and my daydreams, behind the frail Japanese-paper screens of metaphors and iron chains of poetry, behind a smile that matched my name and nothing else. I was a dreamer, so playing pretend was no challenge; I locked it all away within and retreated to that safe and stable solitude that I had grown so accustomed to. I had been hurt before, denied, and I vowed never to dance again for a long, long time.

Love is **pain**.

The boy's name was Steve Fox, the boy who'd played with my heart and discarded it once he'd had his fun. Used me, led me on, pretended he'd done nothing wrong, you know that notorious game bored little boys play. He made me believe, he actually had me fooled, and I promised never to become that stupid again.

Love is **an illusion**. Love is **trivial**.

Michelle teased me, told me I was much too young to be cynical about love and attraction; but that's how I was. I'd always been somewhat of a loner as a child, but now solitude was my best companion and, though I yearned for that idiocy called love, I was fine with being by myself. I even preferred it; strength in solitude, right? With the exception of my people, the Navajo Nation, and the rare sprinkle of friends here and there, I honestly believed that for now, all I needed was myself. Love could only complicate things. Love could wait.

But, like good old Rousseau put it, no person is "an island" by themself, but rather "a part of the main." "Everybody needs someone sometime," right? But I was good at suppressing what I thought I didn't need. I had a feral imagination after all, untamed and rusted and razor sharp, ready to defend when reality became too aggressive.

Love is **weakness**.

All I needed was myself. Love sucked, to put it crudely, colloquially, for those of you who are annoyed with my metaphors and insignificant imagery. But for me, and maybe for you too, love appeared in the most unexpected of places. I wasn't even looking for it. But it happened.

Love is** intoxicating**.

And that's when the bonds came loose. It seemed that often, whenever I did something for myself, and I mean really for myself, something always broke. Something always changed.

--

**Part II - Friendship: The Truth**

They told me it was wrong. They told me I'd been disloyal. All I'd done was be their friend. And they were mistaken; I'd been loyal since day one. I'd listened. I'd offered a shoulder to cry on and advice for the taking. I was a deaf and blind idiot when it came to love, but I was damn good at being a friend if I cared enough for you. And believe me, when I cared I cared _hard_. But of course, they failed to see that. I was their seer, their constant when the tides became too violent, their "big sister"--but they failed to see that. Or perhaps just failed to appreciate.

I was flipping through a magazine one evening at the grocery store, and happened to come across an article about friendship. Across the top it read: "Are you friends with your friends because it's convenient and entertaining, or because there's a real connection?"

That headline got me thinking. Some friends are great and fun, and their sole purpose is to amuse; you really do need a few of those to make sure you can still laugh and relax. But then there are the others, the genuine, the ones who listen and understand--or the ones who listen even when they don't understand. The ones you confide in and entrust your worries to, the ones where you can let loose and be a complete moron or head case without fear of judgment or denial. The ones you go to when the "entertainment" friends have let you down.

In my eighteen years of life, I have met only three, maybe four or five, but certainly only three real friends that I trust. One of them is Christie Monteiro. Otherwise, everyone else is of the "entertainment" caliber, the faceless stranger or courteous acquaintance.

It happened like this: one of my former friends, Ling Xiaoyu, had a crush on Hwoarang, a charming, impulsive, wildly charismatic man that any woman with two eyes and half a brain would be attracted to. She claimed to even love him, though I highly doubted it; what would a mere sixteen-year-old know about love anyway, and for a hormonal, rebellious nineteen-year-old at that? I myself could not define the emotion. No one could. Anyways, she was madly attracted to him. "Hwoarang this, Hwoarang that. Hwoarang and I are gonna have ten kids. He is so ripped. His hair is so fine. He's so Korean, oh my God, I love Asian men. Hwoarang let me make an altar for you and place sweet smelling incense and food offerings at your incredibly Asian feet."

And he liked her back. That was the worst part, because I too wanted Hwoarang for my own.

If I hadn't been her friend I would have told her to shut the hell up. Or, if I'd been my friend Christie Monteiro, I would have given her a good dose of honesty and then a black eye to take home as a reminder. But, being the good listener and the loyal lapdog I was, I smiled and nodded, 'cause that's what a good friend did, right? She put the ones she cared about first. It didn't matter if Xiao neglected my own emotions, because that was insignificant. It didn't matter if she didn't listen to me when I had something on my mind. It didn't matter that her newfound attraction broke my heart. It didn't matter, nothing did, nothing except for her and her feelings. And, being the selfless imbecile I was, I suppressed my emotions. I suppressed truth. I was good at suppressing anyway. I'd been doing it on and off for eighteen fucking years, so why stop now? Unlike her, I could handle my emotions alone--at least, I thought I could.

She liked him, and I secretly hated it. I hated the way she spoke his name, hated how she wouldn't stop talking, how she refused to listen. I loathed being the third wheel; I'd been a third wheel for most of my life. But most of all, I despised myself for longing for what she had, for allowing that raw, bitter envy to germinate in the pit of my stomach, seething and restless like a nest of snakes. I hated how I had allowed that envy to govern my heart and twist my mind; was I so childish, so petty and immature? It was just a boy after all, right? With that, I forced the hatred aside, because I knew that I was better than that; I was worth more. I felt guilty too, because how could I hate my friend for finding what she believed was "love", for feeling happy? I believed myself a bad person for coveting what she had.

As time passed I convinced myself that I was content with the current situation because hey, I really couldn't alter things anyway. Besides, I knew how lonely she'd been; she deserved this more than I did. I didn't want her to become a loner like I was. So, I kept my silence and allowed her to bask in her selfish joys. I kept telling myself to get over Hwoarang; it was just like the previous guys anyways, just like Steve Fox, just some trivial attraction that, if given enough time and effort, would be forgotten and discarded. But the more I suppressed Hwoarang, the stronger my yearning grew. Funny how it works that way. It also didn't help that every time Xiao spoke, it was of him.

I knew I was screwed. Worse, Hwoarang was good friends with Christie, so he wasn't leaving any time soon.

And then…"I've had a crush on you, Julia."

Well…my initial reaction was to jump for joy when I heard those words. He'd liked me too, since the first time we'd ever spoken in fact. And me being stupid, I'd never seen the signs. I mean, I sensed something, but never made a move to investigate. He'd never liked Xiao in the first place either. It was all just a matter of "curiosity", nothing more. Xiao was lively, materialistic, selfish, clueless, all the things that I wasn't. The Korean had just been curious as to why she acted so oddly. And, once he discovered that truer nature, it was anything but a turn on.

I admit Xiaoyu's personality was attractive at first, fun, full of laughter and senseless humor. It was also _annoying_, so annoying that the "attraction" abated because really, there wasn't much substance beneath that jubilance. Hwoarang saw it all, and came to me, the one he'd been truly interested in. Besides, they'd never really dated in the first place, so what was so wrong about it? Xiao had had her chance with Hwoa, and she blew it, so now it was my turn. Right?

My heart said yes. My mind was another matter. In their story, Xiao and Miharu implied that "real" friends didn't ditch one another for a boy. They believed that my betrayal was done maliciously, but that's not the case. It's a lot more complicated than that. I was haunted by guilt. The moment I admitted my feelings to Hwoarang, I began to think, and the more I thought, the more warped the situation became. I faced a terrible dilemma: loyalty to friendship or loyalty to my heart?

"Xiao...I like someone."

"Oooooh who? Tell me, tell me!"

"Uh..."

"Is it Steve again? Jin Kazama?"

"No..."

She became silent. "...is it Hwoarang...?"

"Yeah. And he likes me back, Xiao..."

"..."

"Look, I know how much he means to you, and I'm really, really sorry. I don't want to hurt you, Xiao. I value our friendship, and I don't want someone to come between us. So...if this is going to hurt you, I will leave him behind. I will give him up if this means it will destroy our friendship. What...what do you think?"

"Well...I don't know. I mean, I really do care for him a lot, and...I just don't know."

And I thought some more. The next day the conversation shifted in a different direction.

"You know what? I changed my mind. You had your chance, and you blew it. Now it's my turn."

"YOU FUCKING TWO-FACED BITCH, DON'T EVER TALK TO ME AGAIN! YOU ARE NOT MY FRIEND, I AM DISOWNING YOU!"

Ha, ha...well, I never thought friends could be "disowned"...but you know Xiao. Always making up shit. The question was, if the roles were switched, would Xiao be willing to make that sacrifice for _me_? Of course not. No. Hell no.

Now there's something Xiayou and Miharu failed to mention: _I was willing to leave Hwoarang behind if it meant that it would hurt Xiao_. I truly was. Despite our mutual attraction, I was willing to forget all about it.

But then I realized, Why are you, Julia Chang, smart, caring, and independent as you are, sacrificing so much for this dillusional, judgmental, selfish little girl, when she has done _nothing_ for you? Nothing at all except offer you a good, heartless laugh once in awhile? Not to mention she completely misjudged and badmouthed Christie for not being a Christian, and for being cynical after her mother's death. Because apparently, in Xiao and Miharu's world, there were only sunshine and rainbows, Jesus, God and Asian men, where pain was quickly replaced with joy, mourning and negativity were nonexistent, and Christianity reigned.

Yes, both Miharu and Xiao were Christians. I didn't have anything against the religion itself; it's the followers that I have problems with. Both girls wouldn't stop preaching about their damn God and Jesus; they kept infringing on everyone else's beliefs.

"We don't really have an organized religion like you. It's more 'shamanistic,' you know, belief in the spiritual world," I explained, "My grandmother and step-grandfather are quite talented in that kind of stuff, so I'm pretty familiar with it."

"Oh really? So you like, have spirits?" Xiao asked.

"Yes, everything has a spirit."

"Oh cool. It's like in my religion too, but instead we call them demons," Xiao replied, attempting to sound intelligent.

"Oh..."

So, without realizing it, in a way she'd just called my belief system demonic. She had no idea how much she just offended me. That's how it was with Xiaoyu.

Xiao even attempted to convert Hwoarang and Christie, and her buddy Miharu told Christie to stop being "negative" and to let Jesus into her life.

"Christie, I know your mom died, but GET OVER IT. Move on!" Heartless. Cold. And they claimed that _I _was the traitor?

So...did Xiao really deserve Hwoarang?

I chose Hwoarang even though I knew it would hurt my former friend, and believe me, I felt terrible for awhile. But was it wrong of me to open my heart in exchange for the loss of a friend? Yes, some would say. But if you knew Xiao, then maybe you wouldn't be so quick to vilify me.

To put it simply, I am a great friend, certainly not perfect, but pretty damn close; I don't say this out of arrogance. I may be shy, I may be quiet and withdrawn and opinionated, but I can be one of the greatest friends you could have. I will put your emotions and problems before my own, and I'll not burden you with my hardships unless I trust that you'll be able to handle them. Even though I'd been attracted to Hwoarang for awhile, I let Xiao have him because I'd been too stupid and scared to make a move, and because I thought she deserved him more than I did. And you know what? Xiao took full advantage of that.

She really didn't do much for me within our friendship. I never did feel a strong connection to Xiao or Miharu. Miharu was the same way. She'd been my companion as well, but had forged a rather stronger bond with Xiao, so became my enemy quickly enough. Miharu was actually worse—but that's a different story.

So who's the real antagonist in this story? Was it really betrayal, or a means to love, a gateway to freedom from an artificial, weak friendship?

I'll let you judge for yourself. Their blurry eyes tell only half the story.


End file.
